


Springtime for Hitler

by LordValeryMimes



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Humor, M/M, Series XII, cured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 08:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12317466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordValeryMimes/pseuds/LordValeryMimes
Summary: What's a guy to do when Hitler likes them just a little bit too much?





	Springtime for Hitler

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to janamelie for betaing, and for giving me the idea for the Producers title!
> 
> Thanks to Rob Grant and Doug Naylor for creating these characters so I could make them get up to all sorts of smeg.

“Mein Gott!” Hitler cried out in jubilation as he swung the electric guitar from his shoulder. “That was incredible! You’re amazing!” His eyes flitted across Lister in adoration, like a bird plucking berries from every branch of a tree. 

“Nah,” Lister said as he shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the floor with a restrained smirk. “I wouldn’t say that I’m amazing. Pretty smegging good, but definitely not amazing.”

“Oh come on,” Hitler replied as he gave Lister an affectionate chuck to the shoulder. “You shouldn’t be so modest. You’re right up there with ze greats like Hendrix, or Clapton, or... Rastabilly Skank!” 

“Get outta town. You like Rastabilly Skank?” 

“Ich liebe Rastabilly Skank! I’ve got every single one of his albums back in my quarters! We should go und have a listen!” Hitler jabbed his thumb towards the doorway as he looked at Lister, his entire body bouncing with energy like a puppy eager to play.  

“I really shouldn’t, you know I’ve got that thing I need to be fixin’, and the others will be wondering where I’ve got to...”

“Oh don’t be like that! How do they say? All work and no play?” He clasped his hands under his chin, his lower lip pooched into a pout as he pleaded. “Please come! It’s so rare that we have guests, this is a special occasion!”

“I dunno, man… I mean I’ve already been gone a while and…”

“Another hour won’t hurt anyone.” Hitler waved his hand nonchalantly before grabbing Lister by the elbow and gesturing enthusiastically at the door with his head. 

Lister failed to suppress a cringe at Hitler’s unnervingly wide smile as he considered the invitation. I mean sure this was Hitler, but it wasn’t HITLER Hitler. Their jam session had been a lot of fun, and he seemed like an OK bloke. After all, the guy had let him sing lead. Lister shrugged his half-hearted acquiescence and Hitler gleefully pulled him through the doorway, elbow first.

“Welcome to my humble abode!” Hitler’s face beamed with pride as he gestured at the doorway with the arm that wasn’t tightly linked around Lister’s. As they’d wound their way through the corridors, Lister had attempted to extricate himself, but the former fascist dictator had kept up a constant chatter about his favorite Rastabilly songs. Lister hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise, never mind pull his arm free. “Well, what do you think?” He asked as he guided Lister through the door, his face alight with anticipation. 

Lister’s eyebrows jumped as he gave a quick look around Hitler’s quarters. He wasn’t sure quite what he’d been expecting. Since Hitler was cured of his evil ways, he supposed he shouldn’t have expected to be confronted with swastikas and nazi propaganda, but he certainly wasn’t expecting this. Posters of various bands and musicians covered the walls, there were several more guitars sitting on stands, an array of t-shirts, jeans and music magazines were scattered on all the available surfaces, and there was a neon blue lava lamp lazily glooping away on the bedside table. It looked like the bedroom of a rock and roll obsessed teenager. 

Lister turned back to Hitler again in disbelief, “This is YOUR quarters?”

“Ja! Of course! Do you like it?” 

“Well… yeah! I do like it, actually. It’s just… not what I was expecting y’know?”

“Yes, yes, I know. Because I’m Hitler you thought it was going to be all German flags and things, ja?”

“Well… if I’m being honest, yeah.”

Hitler shook his head good naturedly as he grabbed an armful of magazines to clear a spot on the bed. “I keep telling you though, I’m not like that anymore. Zis is the new me!” He spread his arms out wide as he looked around the room like Maria Von Trapp surveying the hills. “I promise that I’m not ze same fascist dictator that I used to be.” 

“Is it a bit hot in here?” Lister asked off-handedly as he pulled on the collar of his leather jacket. 

“Oh yes, sorry about that. It’s for my succulents, you see. They do best at warm temperatures.” Hitler gestured to an array of small pots dotted over with various types of cacti on a nearby shelving unit. 

“You grow succulents?” Lister asked, incredulous.

“I just find them such delightful little plants, don’t you? All those bright colors. And even though some might look prickly and dangerous on ze outside, they're all sweet and soft on ze inside.” Hitler affectionately patted the top of a jade plant while Lister stood, shaking his head in disbelief. “But if you’re warm, why don’t you take your jacket off? Here, let me help you.” 

Lister stiffened as Hitler reached and helped to slide the jacket off of his shoulders. “Erm… thanks.”

“Oh it’s no trouble at all, David.” Lister pinkened at the intimate way Hitler casually threw out his first name. “It is such a beautiful jacket,” he repeated as he held it close to his face. “I can just imagine you up on stage wearing it. A crowd of people screaming up at you while you play. Your fingers… sliding all over ze frets.” One of Lister’s eyebrows raised quizzically as Hitler ran his hands along his jacket like a blind man reading the Braille edition of Hustler. He turned towards Lister with a flirty toss of his stringently parted hair. “You would have given Rastabilly a real run for his Reichsmarks, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m sure I would.” Lister nervously cleared his throat as he grabbed his jacket back from Hitler and slung it over his shoulder. “How about that music though?”

“Of course, what would you like to hear? Oh wait, I know! I have zis wunderbar collection of Rastabilly’s b-sides!” He flashed Lister a wide smile as he ran over to an old fashioned stereo and began to fiddle with it.

“Can I ask you something though, er… Adolph?” Lister inquired as he prodded a pile of t-shirts with his boot.

“Absolutely you can, you can ask me anything, David. But please, call me Dolphy!” 

“Yeah, Dolphy. Right, sorry. Erm… if you’re not all into the fascist dictator stuff anymore, why d’you still wear the uniform? It looks like you’ve got loads of other stuff to wear here.”

“Yes, well…” Hitler smiled over at Lister sheepishly. “You are our guests, and I’m afraid this was the only formal attire I had. I may not be a fascist dictator anymore, but I am still German, and we must maintain our propriety, ja?”

“Ah! Well I suppose that does make sense.” Lister fiddled self-consciously with his cravat as the familiar twangy funk of Rastabilly Skank began to fill the room. 

“How’s that then? Good, ja?”

“Ja, I mean… yes. I’ve always liked this song.”

“Come, why don’t you sit with me?” Hitler plopped himself down at the edge of the bed, crossed his legs and patted the spot next to him. 

Lister chewed at his thumbnail. He wasn’t sure why he was balking at the thought of sitting on a bed next to Hitler. Then he realized how utterly ridiculous that thought was. Of COURSE he was balking at sitting on the bed next to Hitler like they were a couple of old school chums, who wouldn’t? This whole situation was just beyond weird. 

“I promise I won’t bite.” Hitler said as he flashed Lister an ear-to-ear grin. The vast expanse of his white teeth made Lister think of keys on a piano. He shook his head and tried to reassure himself that Hitler, THIS Hitler anyway, was just a normal everyday guy. Not the genocidal maniac that he’d read about in all those history books. Well, at least he supposed Hitler was mentioned in all of those books. He’d never actually bothered to read any of them. It was in Lister’s nature to give people the benefit of the doubt, it was just a bit harder when the recipient of his benevolence happened to be the instigator of World War II. Determined to do the right thing, he pulled back on the leash of his worries, and plonked down beside the former Führer as they listened to the warbly wailing of Rastabilly. 

Hitler shifted so that he was leaning in towards Lister, his heavily brylcreemed hair nearly brushing the Scouser’s chin. “What’s that intoxicating scent you’re wearing? Some exotic concoction that you picked up on your travels through space?”

“Exotic scent?” Perplexed, Lister lifted up his cravat and gave it a heavy sniff. “That’s just the chicken biryani I had for breakfast yesterday morning.” 

Hitler erupted in gleeful cackles, “Mein gotte, David. You need to stop, you’re going to make me  büste mein gut!” He clapped Lister on the shoulder and squeezed it, kneading his fingers into Lister’s shirt like he was a lump of highly glutinous dough. “My goodness, such strong muscles you have. I’m guessing you must work out a lot to maintain such a youthful physique.”

“Youthful physique?” Lister squirmed uncomfortably under Hitler’s prodding fingers. “The only exercise I get is when I try to use me own feet to throw me socks into the laundry basket.”

“You are always too modest! You know you really are quite attractive, David.”

Danger signals started to scream out, “Awooga! Awooga!” in Lister’s brain. “Er… I am?”

“Oh yes, and I just love your accent, it’s very, very sexy.” Hitler batted his lashes as he grabbed onto the end of Lister’s cravat and leaned in seductively.

Lister’s brain short-circuited as it went from danger mode to full-scale evacuation. “Hang on there, Hit… er… Adolph.” 

“Dolphy, David. Remember?”

“Right, look erm.” Lister grabbed his cravat and plucked it from Hitler’s fingers. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but…”

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,” Hitler’s tiny mustache quivered as he whispered into Lister’s ear. “I’m thinking that maybe you might perhaps like to try a sample of my… weiss wurst?” Two brown eyebrows waggled at him seductively as Lister stared in horror.

“Look man, if that’s what I think it is, than I can tell you that I’m definitely DEFINITELY not interested.” 

Hitler paused as he stared at Lister questioningly. “But… you wanted to come back to my room, yes? I thought we had you know, a kind of vibe going together.”

“Well sure, man. But not for THAT. Just for bein’ buds, you know? Mates? I really did just come up here to listen to Rastabilly Skank and maybe have a few laughs!”

Hitler looked crestfallen for only a moment, until his face split in another wide grin. “Is it because of my uniform, eh? Would you feel differently if I...” Suddenly Hitler was sitting in his lap, straddling him with great enthusiasm as he began to undo the buttons of his brown jacket. “Took it off?”

“For smeg’s sake man, I’m telling you, I’m just not interested!” Lister grabbed Hitler by the shoulders and started to push him away.

“WHAT THE SMEG IS GOING ON IN HERE?” 

“Oh smeg,” Lister peeked around Hitler’s shoulders to see Rimmer standing in the doorway. The hologram’s face was so contorted with anger, that Lister was vividly reminded of the time the polymorph had convinced him that Lister had shagged his mum on the medibay table.

“ARE YOU SNOGGING HITLER?!”

Hurriedly, Lister shoved the ex-dictator off of him and raised his hands in meek surrender. “Rimmer man, it’s not what it looks like! He was coming onto me and I was trying to fend him off!”

Rimmer thundered over to the bed, his boots slamming into the floor with each step. His nostrils were flared like bat ears, and he was nearly purple with fury. 

Hitler looked up from the bed sheepishly. “He is telling ze truth. I’m afraid I was being just a teensy bit naughty.” He let out a nervous titter and Rimmer grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him to his feet. “Oh scheize,” he muttered as Rimmer stared down at him, his lip twitching with rage. 

“Well let me tell you something, miladdo! If any power obsessed, ex-megalomaniac is going to be sucking face with Lister, it’s going to be ME!” 

“What?!” Lister shouted in disbelief from the bed. 

“You heard me! I haven’t spent thirty years lost in deep space with you, fighting our way through simulants, and polymorphs, and GELFs and all manner of other sick and weird things, just to have Adolph smegging Hitler come and steal you away from me!” Rimmer tossed Hitler to the floor unceremoniously, grabbed Lister and pulled him to his feet. 

“Rimmer, man. What are you sayin’ to me?” Lister gasped in surprise at the strong fingers that were holding him like a precious egg that couldn’t be lost or crushed. 

“I’m not saying anything for a change. For once in my life, I’m not going to say a damned word.” Lister’s vision was suddenly filled with nostrils and pursed lips, and before he knew it he was being kissed. Kissed by Rimmer. For a moment, all he could feel was shock. He thought being hit on by Adolph Hitler would be the weirdest thing that happened to him that day, but now Arnold Rimmer was kissing him. Kissing him AND doing a pretty damned amazing job of it. The hologram’s lips were so soft, and the way he was holding his face in his hands was quite nice actually, and oh God. Actually it was more than nice. It was really nice. Really, amazingly, incredibly nice. He found his arms snaking around Rimmer of their own accord, and the hologram groaned as he started to kiss him back. 

“Oh, Listy!” Rimmer muttered into Lister's lips as he clung to him. 

“Oh, Rimsy!” Lister replied as they wound together like a pair of horny cephalopods, the spurned dictator completely forgotten at their feet. 

“Well this is just wunderbar,” Hitler grumbled as he picked himself up off the floor and straightened out his uniform. “Ze first really cool guy to visit in a millennial, and he’s got a possessive boyfriend. So ein Misthaufen!” Hitler sighed and exited the room, just before Lister and Rimmer fell to the bed in a tangled heap. 

The former dictator stuffed his hands in his pockets as he trudged through the corridors, looking about as enthusiastic as a kid on his way to the headmaster’s office. As he rounded a corner, he suddenly heard the sounds of sniffling and whining. He soon found the Cat, curled into a miserable ball underneath a set of stairs. “Not her type,” the feline mumbled as he swiped at his eyes. “Don’t ping her bell! I ping everybody’s bell! I’m gorgeous, aren’t I?” The Cat shook with a fresh burst of sobs as Hitler sat next to him. 

“What seems to be ze problem, Herr Cat?”

“Hair cat? Who are you calling a hair cat? Sure these silken locks are hard to ignore, but I’m more than just hair you know! I’ve got feelings too!”

“I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do to cheer you up. You seem upset.”

“Upset? Who’s upset? Not me! I wasn’t interested in her anyway!” Cat rubbed at his nose, his brow creased in a deep frown. “Only a nut would be interested in a murderous, nymphomaniac anyway.” Cat’s shoulders shook as fresh sobs overtook him. “Why doesn’t she like me? I’m the most perfect and gorgeous guy in all of forever! It doesn't make sense!”

Hitler considered the Cat as he wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulder. Sure the fangs were a bit much, but he supposed he was a pretty good-looking guy, even if he was a bit scrawny. “Ah, you are speaking of Frau Messalina, yes? You should try not to take these things so personal. She turns down everybody these days.”

“Turned down?” Cat sat up and poked Hitler in the chest with a well-manicured finger. “Hey let me tell you something, buddy. This Cat, NEVER gets turned down. I didn’t like her anyway!” Cat crossed his arms over his chest as he sank into a sulk. 

“It is ok mein freund, we’ve all been there. I too have had to deal with the sting of rejection. Very recently in fact.” Hitler screwed up his face in a grimace as he made a mental note to launder his bedclothes later. “Try not to worry about it,” Hitler said chummily as he shifted closer to the Cat. “You’ll find someone better. Someone who appreciates you more.” He rested his hand on the Cat’s knee and smiled up at him.

“Worried? I’m not worried! Why would I worry!” The Cat got a panicked look on his face. “Worrying gives you wrinkles! I’m not getting wrinkles am I?” The Cat began to pat down his pockets for a mirror. Hitler put a steadying hand over the Cat's shaking ones. 

“I don’t see a single one. Trust me, you’re perfect just how you are.” He fixed the Cat with his warmest smile as he pulled out a handkerchief and passed it to him.

“Thanks, bud.” Cat replied as he blew his nose. “You know, you’re not so bad yourself. I’m not sure about the tiny mustache, but your hair is nice and shiny.”

“Oh you're such a flatterer, Mr Cat. Tell you what, how about you come with me to the canteen. Just the two of us? You can tell me where you got this remarkable suit.” Hitler waggled his eyebrows flirtatiously. 

“OK,” Cat replied as he dabbed at his eyes. “And you can tell me where you got yours, so I can make sure to never go there.”

“Ha! And such the comedian too, you really are quite the charmer, Mr Cat.” Hitler slipped his arm around Cat’s shoulders and led him down the corridor. “Perhaps later if you’re interested, maybe you’d like to come back to my quarters and sample some of my… hot cream?” 

“Quite frankly,” Cat retorted as they disappeared around the corner, “I’d prefer cold milk.”


End file.
